What You Think
by Sailor Comet
Summary: Totetsu POV and foul language. Well, what did you think would happen when you agitate a woman with a gun?


Takes place in Petshop of Horrors 9.

Totetsu POV. Foul language and introspection.

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**What You Think**

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This wasn't what I had in mind.

I mean, I'd thought about dying a lot. A _lot_. And I thought about killing almost as much. I wanted to eat D even after he brought me to his shop. Then that damn detective, and then his pansy-ass brother… I wanted to kill them all. I don't need to eat _that_ often, and not strictly humans—D knows somebody who sells _really_ good meat, and I can cook it so it almost doesn't taste like a domestic brainless meat pattie that was grown just to be shot in the head—but I was gorging myself before D stopped me, and quitting any habit takes time. I'd been gluttonously eating anything I wanted, which was, more often than not, some poor innocent sop off the street who smelled really good.

Now I get to eat the not-so-innocent ones, the ones who start trouble with D. It's not gourmet, but hell, it's not bad at all.

What I did before D stopped me wasn't going to last much longer anyway. Eventually somebody else would have caught me, or I'd pick a dinner that kept a gun under its bed, and that would be it; they'd blow my brains all over the wall and then nobody would understand the little goat-thing that was left behind. Or if I was caught, which happened when I tried to eat D, I would have starved to death.

I knew this.

I counted on this.

There just wasn't anywhere for me to go; there was nothing for me to do. I didn't want to actively kill myself, though; for whatever reason, I would not allow that. Something about dignity, I guess. So I started gorging myself, and then he stopped me and gave me a place to live.

I was an ungrateful little fuck at first, but the fact was, I went with him. I accepted his offer. I had my little suicide scheme all planned out, and then D shows up and fucks me over with his coy unpredictably little smile and delicious lips, and I don't think right when I'm confined and hungry. So when I wound up at the shop I was kind of pissed at the situation I was in.

_Now_, though…. I have to wonder when this happened, since I don't remember any overnight change. I never woke up any morning and thought, "I'm going to be a docile little fuck from now on!" but I appear to have become such a thing anyway.

This is sort of ironic. I've been domesticated like a damn cow. I act more like _prey_ now. What the hell? I've been shot because I wanted to save what should have been my midnight snack. This is downright embarrassing.

Simply, this isn't what I had in mind. I used to imagine dying like this; I would wonder if the prey would have good aim, what kind of gun they would have. I would wonder if they would only shoot me in the arm and I would scream and kill them and eat them and retreat bleeding and with my tail between my legs, hiding in the darkness like a rodent, or like prey, until the police found me and hopefully put me out of my misery. I would wonder if they would shoot me between the eyes and it would be over like that. I would wonder if the safety would still be on and it would be another one dead, another failure.

I wondered if it would be like this, with the bullet in my chest and so much pain, and all I could do was lay helpless and paralyzed in my pool of blood and think about how I was dying until it stopped. I didn't imagine it would last so long.

(I didn't think much about the starving to death. That was sort of plain, but it did the job. There would just be a lot of prolonged pain.)

I used to think about dying a lot, and this wasn't what I had in mind. That I would hear somebody screaming and want to _help_ them instead of laughing inside at their fear, or that I would wince in pain instead of smirking in satisfaction of finally achieving my goal. It just never really occurred to me, even after I started enjoying life with D. (I guess I thought that if I wasn't trying to die, there was no way I could get killed. I am, after all, dangerous and bad ass and invincible, and can somehow still think that with a bullet in my chest and my ears still ringing from a gunshot that was so much louder than they are on TV.)

Now the bitch is getting away with Chris, and I can't move from the pain, and it's so pathetic that the great Totetsu was defeated so easily and for some stupid _human child_. I'm so fucking domestic now, and I can't even feel properly disgusted by it.

I didn't realize I was enjoying life again. And I never thought I wouldn't _want_ to die.

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(la fin)

(laissez des commentaires ou je vous mangerai!)


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